Perfect Imperfections
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Some people can only find flaws in others, regardless of their own. CHACK, ONESHOT


**Perfect Imperfections**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.**

Warnings: Language, sexual implication, implied violence/gore, homosexuality, etc.

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"So, um…_what'd_ you say your name was, again?" Jack sheepishly inquired.

The female before him scoffed. "I _told_ you that already," she petulantly sneered.

The redhead frowned. "I know you did," he pointed out. "That's why I'm asking you to _remind_ me. I didn't forget _that_ you said your name, I forgot _what_ it was."

The woman sniffed in offense, tossing her long, glossy locks of auburn over her shoulder. "My _name,"_ she matter of factly informed, "is Laurette Adéle Bellerose, and I am the Grand Baroness of Berseille!"

"Yeah…" Jack slowly spoke, "that's great Laurette, but-"

"Never call me by my first name!" the Frenchwoman ordered. "You are to call me Madam Bellerose!"

"How 'bout I call you 'Crazy Bitch'?" the youth suggested. "'Cause you're sure as hell acting like one."

Laurette gasped in offense. "How _dare_ you?" she questioned. "Your manners are terrible; even worse than I expected from a stupid pig like yourself!"

"Uh…_excuse_ me?" Jack demanded.

"You may be rich," the baroness decided, "but you are a rich _American._ Rich Americans don't know how to _handle_ money, and become fat, stupid, and _ignorant_ idiots!"

The goth scowled. "Look, bitch, I don't know what you were told coming into this, but I'm a _fucking genius._ Y'know how the average IQ is about 100? Mine's _triple_ that, and _then_ some."

The brunette frowned, obviously annoyed at the contradiction. "Well…"she said, "for a genius, you are _quite_ rude!"

"Genius doesn't equal people skills," Jack shrugged. "I'm mostly antisocial, myself."

"That will never do," Laurette 'tsk'ed. "If you are to be my husband, you _must_ learn to socialize!"

"Yeah," the Spicer heir began, "that's what I wanna tell you. Y'see-"

"And your fashion choices are simply garish," the baroness continued, as if she hadn't even heard his words. "All that black makes you look like a…a common hoodlum!"

"Black is my color," Jack protested with a frown.

Again, he went unacknowledged. "Those marks under your eyes must go, as well," the woman decided. _"Those_ make you look like a circus freak."

The goth unintentionally cocked an eyebrow. "It's called self-expression…"

"Your hair is too strangely colored," Laurette complained. "You will stop dying it such strange pigments."

"Love to," Jack replied, "but I kinda _can't._ Red is my _natural_ hair-color: there isn't another color for it to go _back_ to. Besides, we're not even-"

"If you won't change your hair," the Frenchwoman cut him off, "then you will _at least_ do a bit of sunbathing; your skin is _much_ too pale for my liking!"

The Spicer heir snorted. "Oh, sure," he said, "I'll go sunbathing for you; just don't be surprised if I come back lobster-red and with a severe case of skin cancer twenty minutes later. I'm an _albino,_" he informed. "I am _sensitive_ to sunlight, _Madam Bellerose,_ so you're just gonna have to live with how I fucking look."

The baroness 'hmph'ed, folding her arms beneath her ample bosom and glaring with aquamarine eyes. "I fail to see how our marriage can work if you insist on being so obstinate," she said.

"That's just it!" Jack exclaimed. "We're _not_ getting married! I'm not going through with this!"

"I will _not_ have my wedding ruined by a little boy with cold feet!" Laurette declared.

"Firstly," the goth began, "I'm only _one_ year younger than you, and second, I _don't_ have cold feet. How can I have cold feet if I don't want to marry you in the first place?"

"Your mother and father have promised you to me," Madam Bellerose reminded. "You have no choice in the matter, and neither do I; believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, I wouldn't choose someone like _you_ as my husband."

Jack automatically frowned, taking offense. "And what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"You're pathetic," Laurette informed with a dismissive sneer. "You are a scrawny, oddly-colored social outcast with hardly _any_ redeeming qualities. I can see why your parents had to search out of the country in order to find a woman willing to marry you for even the sizable dowry offered. You had best hope your faulty genes and tendencies don't end up in _my_ children!"

_"Your_ children?" the albino demanded. "They'd be _my_ children, too – wait a minute, why am I even debating this with you? We're not getting married! We're not having kids! It. Is. Not. Happening."

"And why not?" the woman ordered of him.

"I'm gay!" Jack exclaimed in frustration. "Pussy grosses me out; I'm a big fan of dick, and I like getting one in the ass better than sticking mine into some woman's bearded clam! Besides, I _have_ a boyfriend, already, so a preexisting committed relationship kinda has precedent over a new, unwanted one, don't you think?"

"No," Laurette simply said.

"…no?" the Spicer heir wondered.

"No," the baroness reiterated. "You were promised to me, and so you _will_ be my husband, whether you wish to or not, and no husband of mine shall be a homosexual: stop that nonsense immediately."

"Hold on a fucking second," Jack growled, standing from the table at which he sat with his 'fiancé.' "Did you just tell me to _stop being a queer?_ Something that's totally physically impossible and as unchangeable as my friggin' _albinism?_ What the fuck is _wrong_ with you that you think I'm going to let you tell me what I can and can't do?!"

"You are to be my husband," Madam Bellrose reasoned, "and because I am obviously your social and cultural better, I hold more authority in our relationship. You will cease your homosexuality, rid yourself of this 'boyfriend,' buy me a home, give me a child, and then we will never associate with one another again unless absolutely necessary: you've far too many flaws to be good company!"

Jack's jaw dropped, but before he could regain his composure enough to say a word, Madam Laurette Adéle Bellerose was abruptly tackled to the floor.

The thing that pounced upon her was lightning quick, but the genius had caught sight of the greens and blacks and scales that immediately told him who her attacker was.

It made sense: after all, _nobody_ talked smack about Chase Young's lover and consort.

Jack did not pay attention and watch intently as the brunette woman was torn limb from limb; he ignored the blood and her shrieks and pleas for mercy in her native tongue.

What the baroness had said was weighing heavily on his mind.

Was he…was he _really_ that flawed? he had to wonder. It wasn't as if nothing she'd said held any merit. He _was_ a social outcast; he _was_ oddly-colored; he really _didn't_ have all that much going for him other than his genius.

Was he truly too flawed to be good company? Surely, the goth thought, the logic for that conclusion was all there.

Abruptly, there was a powerful, gloved hand on his chin, warm and wet with what he knew to be blood. It tilted his chin upwards to meet the stern but beautiful gaze of Chase Young himself.

"I know what you are thinking, Spicer," the everlord spoke. "You are foolish to think it."

"But, she-" Jack began to protest.

He was cut off with the sharp and decisive statement of, "She was an idiot, Spicer. She was so haughty and focused on her own perceived perfection that she could find nothing but flaws in you." The man bent, pressing his lips affectionately to his lover's in a practically saccharine, little smooch. "I see none of them," he said honestly. "To me, you are perfect in all your imperfections."

Immediately, Jack's demeanor brightened and he offered a kiss in return. "Thanks," he smiled, feeling better already. Red eyes glancing over to the other side of the table where the dragon-mauled corpse of the now-late Baroness Bellerose lie on the floor, the goth spoke, "We should get rid of that body soon; I don't want her dead ass leaving any stains on my carpet."

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**A/N: Just a little idea I thought up. To be clear, I have nothing against the French. XD**

Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked the fic! :D


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